Retribution
by Scott Washburn
Summary: Some people still remember what happened on Pandora.


Retribution

By Scott Washburn

"General Quaritch, the admiral requests your presence on the flag bridge, sir. He wants you there when he addresses the fleet."

Quaritch looked at his aide and sighed. Admiral Callahan was a good officer but he was a bit too enamored to pomp and circumstance for Quaritch's tastes—especially with H-Hour fast approaching. But there was nothing for it. As long as he was aboard the admiral's ship, he had to play by his rules. Once they were dirtside, however… He unbuckled his seat restraint and carefully pushed himself away from the Ops table, mindful of the Zero-G. "I'll be back shortly," he told his staff. "Carry on."

Using the handholds, he pulled himself along the corridor that led between Ops and the flag bridge of _USS Guadalcanal_. He passed the Combat information Center as he went and he was glad to see that the people there weren't pausing in their duties while their commander was making speeches.

The flag bridge was crowded despite its large size. It seemed like every staff lackey on the ship wanted to be there for this 'historic' moment. Admiral Callahan was strapped into his oversized command chair wearing his Class –A uniform. Dozens of ribbons covered a large section of the tunic. One or two of them actually had something to do with combat…

"Ah, there you are, General," said Callahan when he spotted him. "Come stand next to me here." Quaritch pulled himself over to the spot indicated and thumped his boots down on the deck, the soles clung as they were designed to.

"H-Hour in less than fifty minutes, sir," said Quaritch.

"Have no fear, this won't take long. Are we ready, lieutenant?" He looked toward one of his staff who had been fiddling with a camera pick-up in front of the Admiral's chair.

"Yes, sir," said the young woman. "Any time you want to start. Just press key F9 on your panel there." She indicated a button on the arm of his command chair.

"Good. Okay, everyone, let's do this." Quaritch put himself at attention and stared at the large video screen that nearly covered one wall of the bridge. It was showing a real-time image of the planet Pandora.

"Men and women of the fleet!" said Callahan. "My fellow human beings! Comrades! This is a great day in the history of our country and our species and we all have the honor of being a part of it. Thirty years ago a shameful defeat was inflicted upon us by merciless aliens assisted by treacherous humans. Today we will erase that shame! Today we bring retribution to Pandora!" The Admiral paused as there were a few cheers from his staff, but then he went on with more ringing phrases, probably intended for the people back home rather than for the men and women about to go into combat. Quaritch blanked most of it out and just stared at the planet on the video screen.

The _target_ on the video screen.

In less than an hour it would begin. In less than an hour the enemy would learn the true price for defying humanity. And it would be a heavy price, indeed! In a bit of irony, Quaritch supposed that he really ought to thank the enemy for making the current situation possible. For decades the United States had allowed its strength to be sapped by foreign countries and international business consortiums like the RDA. It was for the 'common good' the propagandists had said again and again, brainwashing the people. But the humiliating defeat on Pandora had put the lie to all of that. The stupidity and mismanagement of the RDA had led to the deaths of hundreds of humans—most of them Americans—and plunged the world into another terrible economic crisis. Order on Earth had almost completely broken down.

But out of that chaos a new order had arisen. Or more correctly an old order had reasserted itself. The United States, finding its long lost drive and courage, had crushed all opposition and retaken its rightful place as the leader of the world. Things were made right. Everything and everyone in its proper place. A lot of old scores were settled.

But the biggest score of all still remained. Avenging the defeat on Pandora was the centerpiece of the new American policy. The Fleet was built, the Assault Force was assembled, trained and equipped and the whole mighty armada sent on its way. Ten years to get ready, six more years to Alpha Centauri, it would all be redeemed in the next few hours.

"And so my comrades," continued Callahan, "The time has come! All of our work, all of our dedication and devotion will bring us victory! You have the thanks of your nation, your species and of myself. So, I say to you: Good luck and good hunting! Callahan, out." The Admiral pushed the button to end the transmission and then he looked up at Quaritch with _a how'd I do?_ expression on his face.

"Nicely done, sir," said Quaritch giving the man what he wanted. "Truly inspiring."

"Good, good. Like to send the lads off in high spirits."

"Admiral, we will commence launching the first wave of missiles in eleven minutes," said Captain Sinclair, _Guadalcanal's_ skipper.

"Yes, yes," replied Callahan. He swept his gaze around the bridge. "Well, thank you everyone. Let's get to our posts and get cracking, eh?"

Quaritch saluted and then headed back to the Ops compartment. Dozens of other officers and crew were heading to their stations, too. He was gratified to see his own people still hard at work. His chief of staff, Colonel Davis looked up as he came in. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Weren't you listening?" asked Quaritch.

"Hell no. We got enough to do without all that nonsense."

Quaritch smiled. "What's our status?"

"Loading proceeding on schedule. More or less. _Utah Beach_ is reporting a mechanical failure on one of their assault shuttles. They've got no spare so I've routed one over from _Saipan_. They may have to delay their launch, though."

"What are they carrying?"

"B Company, 2nd battalion of the 23rd. Second wave, sir, not really critical."

"Let's hope not. Any other problems?"

"The usual little stuff, nothing that will affect the operation, sir. If the Navy does its job this should be a walk-over."

Quaritch frowned. "None of that talk, colonel. It was supposed to have been a walk-over thirty years ago. There's still too damn much we don't know about this place. We're going to act as if the enemy is ready, waiting and dangerous."

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir," said Davis.

Quaritch gave the man a slap on the shoulder. Of course Davis was right: this time it _should_ be a walk-over. They were bringing overwhelming force and ought to hit the enemy completely by surprise. The Fleet had timed its approach to enter the Alpha Centauri system when Pandora was on the opposite side of the star. The enormous flare from the anti-matter engines should have been lost in the glare of the star. Now they were swinging in from around the gas giant, Polyphemus, keeping it between them and Pandora. The ships were painted black and with any luck at all no one on Pandora would see them and even if someone did, they wouldn't know what they were or what they intended. Surprise should be complete. Of course they had dispatched a series of recon drones that had been collecting targeting data for several days. But there had been no radar emissions from the old Hell's Gate base and they were so small that the chance of anyone actually seeing them was almost nil.

"All hands! All hands!" said the speaker on the wall. "Stand by to fire! Repeat: Stand by to commence firing!"

Quaritch checked the time and right on the second the ship quivered slightly as the first salvo of missiles were launched. _It's begun! At last!_

He punched up an external view on a display monitor. The ships themselves were hard to see, but dozens of bright points of light were appearing and streaking away. More waves followed the first, hundreds and hundreds of them. They spread out as they moved around the curve of Polyphemus. Their engines cut out before they were in sight of Pandora, but they were on courses that would take them inexorably to their targets. The last of the initial launch was completed. There would be more later, but this first wave was the most critical.

He turned to look at the main tactical display. It showed a 3D image of the situation. A few dozen icons representing the ships of the fleet were there, along with Polyphemus and Pandora. A multitude of blue specs had detached themselves from the fleet and were moving around the gas giant. As he watched, faint vector lines appeared, connecting the missiles with their targets. He touched a control and the display zoomed on those targets. It showed one of Pandora's largest continents. Near the center of the display was a glowing red icon—Hell's Gate. The recon drones showed that the former RDA base was still occupied, presumably by the Na'vi and whatever human traitors might still be alive after this long. Nearby was another red dot, the closest Na'vi village. It was a new village, not shown on the last scans that had come back before the disaster. The assumption was that it was something that had been built by the survivors of the Na'vi clan that had been at the center of the earlier war. Neither that village nor Hell's Gate were marked as targets on the display.

That was not the case with two thousand other villages.

The Na'vi lived in small, widely scattered settlements. The people in charge of the initial base on Pandora had made the mistake of assuming that meant they posed little threat. Even if the local tribes became angry, so what? There would never be more than a few hundred of them to deal with at once. It had been a logical assumption, but it was wrong. Fatally wrong. In spite of the distances, the Na'vi possessed a mobility that far exceeded that of most primitive peoples. They had been able to concentrate large numbers in a short period at the decisive point.

That was not going to happen this time.

As Quaritch continued to watch, the objects on his display intersected the planet. Small data blocks appeared detailing the accuracy and estimated damage, but in his mind's eye he was seeing what was really happening: Na'vi men and women going about their daily routines, climbing up and down the huge trees they called home, completely unaware of what was about to happen. Then a sudden bright glare from the sky, but before they could even begin to react, a blinding flash followed almost instantly by searing heat and a blast wave that would tear them and their tree to burning fragments. Any of the natives lucky enough to be away from home might see a streak of light plummet from the sky and then explode, turning their hometree into a fireball rising skyward. Would they have any clue what had happened? Or why? Quaritch regretted that there was no way to let them know just who it was who had obliterated them.

"First reports are looking good, sir," said Davis. "Ninety-seven percent hit ratio."

"Good," replied Quaritch, smiling. Follow-up attacks would take care of any targets missed by the first wave. Estimates on the damage flowed in, but they were all nearly the same: 'target destroyed'. The missiles carried no warheads, depending strictly on their own mass and the velocity of their impact. Each struck with the force of a 20 kiloton nuke. More than enough for the relatively small targets they were being used against. How many Na'vi had been killed? Between two and five hundred at each target multiplied by two thousand…

"Stand by for braking!" blared the loudspeaker suddenly. "All hands, stand by for braking!"

Quaritch pulled himself back from his satisfying arithmetic and saw that the fleet was now around Polyphemus and on final approach for Pandora. It was time to decelerate into orbit. Most of his staff were strapping themselves into their chairs, but Quaritch remained standing next to the plotting board and simply braced himself. About a minute later he heard and felt the faint rumble and the ship's main drive came alive. The trust was only about a tenth of a Gee, but it went on for quite a while. Quaritch continued to evaluate reports and issue orders until the thrust finally died away.

"We're in the groove, sir," reported Davis. "Pandora orbit at H-plus four hours. Landings to commence 30 minutes after that."

"Excellent. Make sure all the men have a meal before they report to their shuttles. And that includes everyone here."

"You, too, sir," grinned Davis. His aide often had to remind Quaritch to eat.

He did force himself to eat, but he was back in his command center within minutes. He'd waited so long for this he wanted to savor every detail. Follow-up waves of missiles were going out along with more recon drones. Long range photos showed a thousand expanding smoke clouds from the first strike.

As they got closer, the jammers started launching. This was a critical part of the strike and sadly it was completely untested. There was no way to test it except by trying it. A decisive factor in the initial defeat thirty years earlier had been the attack by the native wildlife. An attack directed by some sort of planet-wide network. The so-called 'Eywa Phenomena'. Some of the idiot Nav'vi-lovers back on Earth had tried to attribute mystical or supernatural capabilities to this Eywa. But it was clear to any rational person that whatever Eywa was, it had to adhere to the same physical laws as everything else in the universe.

Intense study of the data available had finally revealed Eywa's secret: faint transmissions on the extreme low end of the EM frequencies. The network was a vast web of plants and animals connected by a sort of natural radio. How it all worked and whether it really was self-aware and intelligent was still open to debate. But the important thing was that now that they knew how the communications took place, it ought to be possible to jam it and sever the connection. Hundreds of automated drones were now moving into position to blanket Pandora with powerful jamming transmissions. Hopefully that would take care of Eywa! But they wouldn't know for sure until they got down there.

Which would be happening shortly.

Quaritch buckled on the last of his gear and headed for his command shuttle along with his staff. Thousands of other men and women were doing the same thing throughout the fleet. He'd wanted to go down with the first wave, but Admiral Callahan had overruled him. He couldn't land until a beachhead had been established. It was irritating, but he had to admit that Callahan was probably correct. He was planning to land directly at Hell's Gate and if any of the old base's weapons were still operational there could be some losses to the attackers. After all this work he wasn't going to let himself get taken out by some random missile at the end!

He went aboard the shuttle and strapped himself into his seat. There was a full array of command monitors in front of him and he watched as the first wave of shuttles was launched. A full regiment was heading for Hell's Gate. The other troops were going to set up a series of strongpoints in a large ring around Hell's Gate. The objective was to establish a secure zone about a hundred klicks across, completely free of any Na'vi or large animals. From there the rest of the planet would be pacified.

Reports started coming in. Nearly all the shuttles made it down all right. Several sustained damage while landing, but that was expected. Everyone stiffened when a report came in that one shuttle had collided with a large flying creature and had crashed with casualties. Had that been deliberate? Was Eywa still in the fight? But there were no more incidents so perhaps it was just a fluke.

The Hell's Gate assault force reported a few sporadic shots from the fixed defenses, but nothing bad. They neutralized them within minutes and were debarking their troops. Resistance was minimal.

"Looking good, sir," said Davis.

"Yes. Now let's get down there. Tell the Admiral we're launching."

"Yes sir!"

Within moments they had their clearance and they were off. On the way down more detailed reports came in from the Hell's Gate force. The base had been completely secured. Casualties were very light, mostly minor wounds and injuries. Best of all, they had taken some prisoners—both human and Na'vi. Quaritch sucked in his breath at that. _Yes! _

The shuttle plowed its way through the thick atmosphere, Quaritch growing more anxious with each passing second.

"Sir, we're getting some reports that a lot of the big animals seem to be acting crazy," said Davis. "Running around in circles and attacking anything they see—even other animals."

"The jamming is working then."

"Seems to be. But, sir, they're still dangerous."

"Well, if it's just random and not a coordinated attack against us, we can deal with it."

"Yes, sir. Oh, and some of the Na'vi prisoners appear to be affected, too. Sick, delirious…"

_Can't handle being cut off from their god, eh? Well, we'll give them new gods to worship!_

Finally the shuttle broke through the clouds and began its approach to the base. Dozens of other vehicles, large and small, were buzzing around. A few were attacking targets on the ground, animals, Quaritch supposed.

As the shuttle got closer to Hell's Gate, he could see a lot of troops milling about. The base itself was in amazingly good shape after 30 years. A few small fires were burning here and there but the damage seemed minimal. The entire refinery complex, on the other hand, was a mass of ruins overgrown with trees and vines. It had obviously been destroyed a long time ago. _No matter, we're not here for unobtainium!_

The shuttle touched down and the whine of its turbines slowly faded. He fitted his exopack into place and a moment later the door opened and the ramp let down. He slowly led the way, his staff following. The air was warm and humid, but he didn't mind. This was it! He was here! On Pandora! In triumph!

The regimental commander was waiting to greet him. "What's the situation, colonel?" he demanded, returning the man's salute.

"The base is secure, sir. We have eighteen wounded, but no fatalities at all. We have thirty-five prisoners; twenty-two human and thirteen Na'vi. Oh, and sir?" Quaritch looked at the man who was breaking into a grin.

"What?"

"We've got Sully!"

"Really?" Quaritch couldn't keep a grin off his own face.

"Yes sir!"

"Well all right then! Take me to him!"

The colonel led the way and Quaritch had to force himself not to break into a run. Sully! The arch traitor himself! He never let himself believe that he would still be alive or that they would ever find him. But he was here! Right here! Oh, this was beautiful!

They passed through an airlock into the base proper. Up a flight of stairs, around a corner. Just a few more seconds and he would…

"Hey! Midshipman Quaritch! Is that you in there?"

The corridors of Hell's Gate vanished and Miles found himself inside the dim enclosure of a simulator pod. Someone was pounding on the lid and a moment later it swung open letting in much-too-bright light. Commander McCulley was staring down at him.

"It's 0500 cadet! What the hell are you doing in there?"

"Oh… uh… just working on a tactical problem, sir," answered Miles, squinting and trying to shake the simulator cobwebs out of his brain.

"According to the log you've been in there four hours!"

"It's a complex problem, sir."

McCulley frowned and shook his head. "Invading Pandora again, son?"

Miles caught his breath. "How… how did you know, sir?"

"Part of my job, kid. Simulator usage is regulated, you know. Can't have the kaydets involved in any restricted nonsense. I've been monitoring your development of this particular program for a while now."

"It… it's a valid tactical exercise, sir."

"Perhaps. But I'm worried that it's becoming an obsession." Miles frowned and looked away. After a moment he looked back and McCulley was still staring at him. "Miles, you don't have anything to prove," he said in a softer tone. "You're one of the best cadets in your class. I doubt that many people here even know who your grandfather was." He stuck out his hand and helped him get out of his pod. "Now come on. You can still get an hours' sleep before reveille."

Reluctantly Miles did as he was told. He glanced back at the rows of pods. Simulations were just about the only sort of training they could do any more at Annapolis. What with all the budget cuts it was about the only training the military got at all.

But someday… someday…

_Someday I will avenge you, Grandfather!_


End file.
